


From Eden

by Harpyink



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Commander Lexa, Drug Abuse, F/F, F/M, Lexa Lives, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smut, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpyink/pseuds/Harpyink
Summary: Clarke and her brother Bellamy have been doing just fine for the past nine years after the outbreak, but suddenly that's not the case anymore. Lexa leads a band of survivors searching for somewhere safe, and just might be the answer Clarke didn't know she was looking for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> wrote this to the album Vertigo by EDEN

For a few whistful seconds, Clarke opened her eyes on the overgrown landscape. Trees grew wild and lush in the years since factories had shut down and cars were left abandoned. Great, thick vines crept up telephone poles, sprouting bright red and orange flowers that reminded Clarke of lilies. Those had always been her favorite in the time before. But there was not much use for remembering things like that anymore. She lay relaxed and still, listening for anything that might be out of place, but found nothing. Too much nothing. An instant later realization ripped itself through her core, spreading like branches of lightning to her fingertips. 

Flipping over, Clarke regarded the empty blanket beside her own through quickly fogging vision. The palms of her hand rose to press against her eyelids. She wiped away the wetness. Yesterday had been the day for mourning, today for moving on. 

 

*******

The morning was wet with dew. Bellamy’s footsteps fell in time with Clarke’s, just as they had from the time the siblings had taken their very first steps on Earth. There were few things one could find to smile about these days, but mornings like this with her brother set her soul at ease. They exchanged few words as the town came slowly into view. 

Stopping atop a small hill, Clarke pulled binoculars from her daypack as Bellamy shifted his gun more comfortably in his waistband. No suggestion of motion came from the town except the quick snapping of a tattered US flag above the door to an idyllic, small-town home. 

“Anyone down there look like they’re trying to turn us into dinner?”

“Dinner at 7am? Come on Bellamy, they’re not heathens. Give them some credit.” Bellamy let out a quick laugh. 

“Alright well let’s go get our dinner then.”

As they approached the town, the decay of years began to show in the weeds growing up through cracks in the asphalt and the dirt caked firmly on the base of every house. Despite the dilapidation, many windows remained intact, a good sign that the quaint town had avoided early waves of raiders, who in their panic had left many town as nothing but bones. 

Clarke took the left side of the street and Bellamy took the right. The steps creaked under Clarke’s unexpected weight. Just inside the front door she found herself in a living room that could have been described as cozy. Could have if there wasn’t a corpse on the couch. Nine years had stripped it of everything and left only bones, but the scent of death and desperation still clung to the house like thousands of spider webs. This never got any easier. 

The gun still rest next to its victim, and despite her reservations about disturbing such a scene, Clarke knew it would come in handy. The weapon came free of its owner’s hand with a tug and the unpleasant cracking of small bones. She winced at the sound, but firmly tucked the gun into her waistband. 

Turning away from the gruesome scene, Clarke tread lightly to the kitchen. In the cabinet she found two cans of black beans, one can of corn, one of diced tomatoes and a small bag of rice. They would all prove useful, which was unfortunately more than she could say for the long stale and rotted cookies and whatever was making such a horrible smell in the direction of the refrigerator. The new provisions fit nicely into her backpack that was nearly empty in expectation of today’s haul. 

She turned back to make her way to the next house, but thinking about walking back through that living room made Clarke’s temples pulse. She leaned heavily against the kitchen counter and rest her fingers against her forehead. Images projected themselves intrusively onto the back of her eyelids: the metallic scent as she descended those stairs nine years ago, the gun, the television’s harsh, blue glare over her father’s lifeless eyes, the news playing continuously for the lifetime it took for her to find her voice. 

Clarke took and uneasy breath and rubbed her eyelids with her palms trying to scrub the images clean. 

Coming back to reality, the sounds of shutters rhythmically beating against their frames drifted in through the door coming off the dining room. Clarke padded around the large table and into what she assumed was the master bedroom. The front yard was an easy drop from the window on the far wall, and Clarke landed nearly soundlessly. 

A sudden crash split the silence of the ghost town. Clarke’s head whipped around to greet it. Her feet took of towards the house across the street she knew Bellamy had been scavenging. As she reached the unkempt yard panic flashed up her spine into her throat. The door lay ajar. Another crash sounded from the back of the house as Clarke crossed the entrance. 

“Bellamy!”In the rubble that used to be a dining room table, Bellamy lay on the ground thinly holding off a member of the undead. Teeth gnashed inches from his face as he held the zombie off with the force of his forearm. His legs were already bloodied from fragments of wood and glass, and a look of fresh panic painted his face white. Necrotized flesh hung off of the creature’s chest exposing yellowing ribs and the liquefying remnants of what Clarke assumed once formed organs. It’s arm was broken in multiple places forming unnatural angles, though it hardly seemed to notice. 

Clarke fumbled for the handle of her new gun, praying to someone’s god that its previous owner had bothered to put more than one bullet in. Her hands were clammy and already slicked with sweat and as her fingers grasped the hilt, it slipped easily from her hand, clanging to the ground. The zombie’s head swiveled around. It’s one remaining eye trained directly on Clarke. Dropping to the ground, Clarke managed to firmly grip the gun and lift it smoothly to the zombie’s eye level. With a resounding crack, the bullet buried itself securely in the creatures skull. It’s head snapped back, torso and arms following in suit. 

Scrambling uncaringly across shards of glass, Clarke reached her brother as he sat up with a soft groan.

“Are you ok? What happened? I’m so sorry. I didn’t see anything when we came into the village. There was…”

“Clarke slow down. I’m ok...thanks to you. Just a little scraped up is all.”

Still breathing heavily Clarke buried her head into her brother’s shoulder.

“We should probably get going before hordes descend on us, however. That new piece you’ve got is pretty loud. Nice shot by the way.” Clarke cracked a grin.

“Yeah well someone has to make up for your utter incompetence.”

“Ouch!” Bellamy feigned a chest wound, grinning back at Clarke. “Alright, well at least help me up.” 

Clarke stood and gripped his outstretched wrists. Groaning Bellamy came to a standing position.

“I’m definitely having a look at those cuts when we get back. Don’t even try to argue, there’s no way I’m letting you die of some lame ass infection in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.”

“Yes, mom.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke led the way out of the house carrying the provision bags for the day. They hadn’t gotten as much as she had hoped, but with rationing it would at least last them to the next village. Under the cover of the tree line, they set a comfortable pace towards the campsite. 

Thirty minutes into the slower than usual walk, the two backpacks were digging into Clarke’s shoulders. She was careful not to give too many signs of discomfort as Bellamy was in no condition to be carrying extra weight on his injured leg. The groans coming from her brother had been increasing in frequency throughout their trip. 

“Clarke, I need to stop. I’m getting lightheaded.” Bellamy sank, back to the trunk of a large tree. His face was upturned and pale. 

Clarke turned back and took a seat in front of him. 

“Let me see your leg. You may be losing blood.”

Bellamy relinquished to Clarke’s tug. 

“Bellamy, you’re burning up. Did you manage to get an infection already?” Placing his calf in her lap, she cut away the fabric of his pants and inspected the cuts on his shin and cleaned them with the rag and water canteen from her pack. The rest of the medical supplies were still back at camp. Clarke lifted Bellamy’s leg to tie the rag into makeshift bandage, but on the underside of his leg her fingers found the border of a familiar wound. One that set her heart hammering. Her hand came away bloody. 

Clarke raised his leg, and though she already knew what she would find, she could not stop the sharp gasp that escaped her throat. Tears pricked at her vision, but through them she could still see the double crescent of unmistakable bite marks. 

“Bellamy,” her voice cracked and trailed off “I’m so sorry.” She looked up slowly to meet his gaze. His eyes grew glassy, but his jaw locked and he gave Clarke a curt nod. 

“Okay,” Bellamy took a shaky breath and nodded to himself again, “Remember what we talked about. Right between the eyes. Don’t hesitate.”

“No no no. I’m not doing that. I can’t.” Tears flowed freely now, tracking hot rivers down to Clarke’s chin. This was never supposed to happen. Her brother, whom she had never taken a breath without. Her brother who became both father and mother when they had none. They were never supposed to be apart, and yet Bellamy pressed his gun into her hand and curled her fingers around the trigger himself.

“You know I can’t do this myself. Please, Clarke. We both know you were always the strong one...and I won’t become one of them.”

“I know.” Clarke nodded, gave Bellamy a steady look, “I know and I’m so sorry.” Clarke couldn’t help the sob that found its way into her throat. 

Bellamy tugged the silencer up to his forehead, guiding Clarke’s shaking hands. His eyes drifted closed and Clarke knew that though she was not ready, he had already made his peace. With a breath and a smooth squeeze, Bellamy fell limply against her shoulder. Clarke jumped back dropping the gun but fell to her knees almost immediately, dry heaving into the dirt. 

The silence reverberated off the distant mountains and through every leaf of the forest. It rushed at Clarke from every direction, and it was deafening. 

 

*******

 

Clarked threw off her woven blanket and pushed up from the makeshift bed. Her bedding had become damp and heavy with moisture in the night. Clarke sighed. This would set her back an hour before moving camp. She desperately needed to be away from this place. It still stank of Bellamy’s absence.

She tossed the blankets, laden with unwelcome dirt and leaves, over the low hanging limb of a nearby tree, and set about collecting tinder to dry out the bedding and boil some clean water while she was at it. Clarke briefly considered making some food, she knew her body needed it after days of rationing, but her stomach turned at the thought. 

The camp was set back only a hundred yards or so from the small river that Clarke guessed was snowmelt. It ran deep and clear and so so cold. 

The water bit at Clarke’s fingers as she dipped the metal pail into the stream, but she did not pull back. The deep cold ached up the back of her hand into her forearm. This pain anchored her. This pain climbed inside of her and made a home of her bones. This pain deserved her, and who was she to deny it? 

The rocks by the riverbank cut sharply into Clarke’s feet. With each step the current swallowed her skin. As the water reached her chest, she lay back into it. Clothes floated freely around her frame. The force of the cold pressed the air swiftly from her lungs. Clarke kept her eyes open as she sank. Visions of the world above shifted and blurred together, unfocus and reconfigure along with the surface rising above her head: nine years old and she is watching fireworks from her father’s shoulders, thirteen and Bellamy is grabbing her hand and promising to protect her in a world they no longer understand, twenty two and she is pressing a bullet between his eyes, twenty two and she wakes up only to silence, twenty two and she is finally, truly alone. 

The water’s cold no longer stung, it began almost to feel warm. She would push back up, but she just needed a moment longer in a place that didn’t feel like the real world. The haziness creeping from the corners of her consciousness was oddly comforting. 

A hand reached out of the light above her to grip firmly onto Clarke’s forearm and it was hot. So hot her arm felt like it was burning under the touch. 

As her head broke the surface, Clarke’s eyes locked onto forest green eyes and a head full of dark hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to the album White Noise by PVRIS
> 
> Thank you for all the encouraging messages <3  
> shameless plug: find me on tumblr @shaws-safe-place

Clarke spluttered back from semi consciousness to find the girl’s face hovering above hers. Shockingly green eyes made more prominent by charcoal eyeliner sat above high cheekbones and a determined jaw. 

“Who the fuck are you?” The girl sat back, her facial expression mirroring incredulity. 

“Oh, just the girl who just kept you from drowning yourself, but don’t worry you don’t have to thank me.”

“I wasn’t trying to drown myself, “ Clarke spit. 

“Okay. Sure.” She shook her head and rose from the ground, heading towards the backpack she had abandoned at the treeline. The distaske in this girl’s voice was palpable. Why had she even wasted her time to save her if all she got in return was hostility. The blonde sighed from behind her, shoulders finally sagging forward. A pause. 

“I’m sorry...and thank you.” The green eyed girl turned to face her again and shouldered her pack. She could see that Clarke was slowly regaining color in her lips and fingers, despite resembling a half-drowned rat. She took a small breath rolled her eyes in a small show of defeat. 

“Lexa.”

“What?”

“You asked me who I am, or rather ‘who the fuck I am’...Lexa Woods.”

 

“Oh. I’m Clarke a-and don’t worry, you don’t need to look after me or take me with you. I’ll be fine.” She pressed against the biting stones beneath her and clambered to her feet. 

“Good because I wasn’t offering.” The sharpness of Lexa’s words cut clarke deeper than the rocks against her palm. “I have to go. There are people relying on me for their next meal.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and faded into the dense undergrowth, leaving Clarke wondering if the coldness in her blood was to blame for such a vivid hallucination. 

 

As Clarke returned to her small camp, only two goals pervaded her conscious: get dry clothes and get the fuck out of this place. She turned towards the spot in the treeline where Lexa had vanished. Something in her wished the girl would materialize from the shadows just beyond her sight. From the time her head broke the surface, from the time their eyes had first locked, Clarke’s body had forgotten to remind her of the void eating away at her gut. Now that she was gone, it returned with breathtaking force. 

Packing up camp took less time than she expected. There was no coordinating who would carry what. She would carry all of it. There was no arguing over which pieces of new loot were essential enough to bring along. For once she didn’t think about it and simply emptied the contents of Bellamy’s pack into her own and yanked it shut. The newly weighty pack bit into clarke’s shoulders even through her shirt. She shifted uncomfortably, jimmying her thumbs under the straps in a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure. Her shivering dissipated quickly as she began her daylong trekk. 

Further downstream was no different from where she had been the night before, but at least it was something new, at least it was another day’s travel in the direction of something good. That’s what they had hoped at least, though there was no proof of it. After each potential safe haven turned to disappointment, the best she could do was tell herself that at least the next place couldn’t be worse than this one. At least in the next place there was still a chance. 

At midday, when she stopped to cover herself in another layer of expired sunscreen. The knots in her gut had made no progress in slackenning, but as the day wore on towards afternoon and the afternoon towards dusk, hunger wormed its way into her stomach. Clarke wanted to push on into the night. She didn’t yet feel far enough from his empty eyes or the piercing smell of blood. Moving past nightfall, however, was a death sentence, and the cans in her pack beconned. Clarke sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden pain that came with removing the straps from her shoulders. Lifting the fabric she could see a deep red indent on each side, rubbed raw nearly to the point of blistering. Gingerly she swept a fingertip over the traumatised skin, but pulled back at the intense sting. 

What remained in the bag did little to lift her spirits. The few cans and one glass jar of pickles Bellamy had managed to collect had shattered right along with the glass table as he was attacked. All that remained to be eaten were the few cans of food Clarke had managed to scrounge up. She settled on black beans and wasted no time digging her fingernail under the tab. The lid let out a metallic yawn, and finally relinquished its hold on the can with a snap. The contents tasted like nothing and left her hungry. 

That night she spread nothing beneath her, and instead opted to simply sleep on the fallen leaves and underbrush. There didn’t seem to be much point if she would just pack it back up in the morning. 

Sleep came fitfully over the next days. On the edge of dreaming, she felt the heavy weight of steel in her fist and woke to gunshots ringing in her ears. 

On the second day at her new campsite, it became clear that she needed to find another source of food. Going back to the last town was out of the question. She knew it would still be overrun because of the fresh blood and gunshots. Zombies were creatures of inertia. Once they got somewhere, they tended to stay until given a reason to leave. Bellamy had scouted other nearby villages with her and all showed signs of early raiding, some even of large fires. Clarke would have to catch her next meal. 

This had never been her strong suit. Bellamy had taken to hunting immediately and with ease while Clarke cooked and scavenged. Countless times he had beckoned her over to watch him delicately tie a snare knot or shape a fish hook, but rarely had she actually paid attention. It had always been a given that he would be there, he would protect her. He had promised, and Bellamy never broke a promise. Well, until now at least. 

Luckily, Clarke had managed to grab the coil of fishing line from Bellamy’s belongings. Retrieving the tab from a discarded can of corn, she set about fashioning a hook as best as she could remember. The large metal loop was cut at an angle on the side to form a sharp point, and the remaining metal above it was folded back to allow room for the fish’s mouth to come around the point. Scooping the few remaining corn kernels, Clarke clambered up a small boulder that protrude from the shoreline into the water, makeshift fishing pole in hand. 

With a kernel skewered on the hook, she dropped the contraption into the water with a definitive plunk. Mere seconds after hitting the water, a small tug caused Clarke to jerk forcefully on the line, but the hook came up empty, corn intact. This happened twice more before she realized her line was likely becoming entangled in plants on the floor of the riverbed. 

Careful to keep the hook no more than two feet below the surface, she sank the hook in again. The back of her neck grew slick under the sun’s intense glare and heat radiated through the fabric of her pants. Minutes passed with no movement until a small bobbing motion caught her attention. Clarke wasted no time in jerking the line out of the water. This time it came not only devoid of fish, but also of bait. The other few morsels disappeared in similar fashion. Finally, on the very last piece of bait, The line went under, forcefully this time. Adrenaline rushed painfully through her wrists and into her fingers as she felt the solid force of hook cutting through flesh. The disappointment flooded almost as quickly, as the line snapped below her over-eager hands. Without a meal and now without a fish hook, tears welled up in Clarke’s eyes. She did not allow them to fall. The remaining spool of fishing line was gripped between whitened knuckles. Clarke clenched her jaw as not to scream as she slammed the material into the dirt below her perch. 

In the following days she found even less luck entrapping small animals. Her knot handiwork was never put to the test, as nothing larger than a spider came near enough to be caught. 

As she plod back, once again empty-handed, toward her new campsite, the distinctively joyous shriek of a child bubbled delicately through the air. Without warning, her feet turned to find the rare sound. Ten minutes walk down the bank, a small boy came into view. Clarke stepped back into the treeline to observe without drawing attention. The child, who appeared to be catching minnows, crouched at the river’s edge. His knees were tucked up to his chest and his freckled face hovered intently over the water. Clarke was transfixed. Other people were a rare sight, much less a young child. 

Hands poised motionless above the circling fish, he patiently waited several long minutes before plunging his cupped palms below the surface. He dumped several fish into the bucket beside him and turned back to his statue like pose. Before more minnows could fall victim to his coordinated attack, a voice called out to him.

“Aden, come back it’s almost nightfall.” The measured voice struck Clarke with a sense of familiarity. As the girl, Lexa, emerged from the shadows, Clarke stumbled backwards in surprise. The burnette’s head whipped around at the sounds of crunching leaves, but she apparently thought better of it and decided not to pursue the suspicious sound. 

“Come, let us go.” Ravaged with curiosity, Clarke followed the pair at a safe distance. Between wispy branches and the leaves of thick underbrush, she watched as Lexa guided Aden towards their camp with the gentle pressure of her hand on his far shoulder. 

The trust between them was clear. Clarke wondered briefly if Aden was her son. Their dissimilar appearances told her no but their easy familiarity told a different story. Once again she realized with a start that the weight in her stomach had lightened in the presence of her mysterious rescuer. 

Nestled into the side of a rocky incline sat a rundown warehouse. Two large loading platforms protruded from its front facing side, though no trucks were anywhere to be found. The company’s logo was partially obscured by rust and decay. The barely legible name read “POLIS”.

Unable to continue on without being heard or spotted, Clarke watched as the woman and the little boy slipped in through the side of the building, and the door closed with a soft click. 

That night as Clarke lay sleeplessly at the riverbank, she could feel the effects of her restricted diet. Small sticks and pebbles dug more painfully into her emaciated hips, exhaustion coursed through every muscle and wove its way into her bones. Rolling to her back, she could feel the suggestion of individual ribs beneath the skin of her chest. She let out a small sigh, and in its aftermath, the silence weighed down on her frame. She missed the soft breath of sleep, the shuffling of a fitful dream, the hushed tones of mundane conversation. She longed for evidence of life. Despite her efforts, Clarke could find no sign of them in herself. 

As dawn split the sky, Clarke was already awake and the campsite - or lack thereof - had folded itself into her backpack. Unable to continue this lie she had spun for herself, she set off in the direction of the warehouse. She couldn’t do this alone, and more importantly she didn’t want to anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please notice before you read on that I have updated some tags with things that may make people uncomfortable to read about!
> 
> Sorry this one took me a bit, but i made it extra long to make up for it <3  
> Written while listening to King Princess
> 
> How to find me places  
> tumblr: shaws-safe-place  
> youtube: In The Trees

The rap of her knuckles resounded through the warehouse and bounced along empty  
walls back to her. The sound made her flinch as if a gun had gone off. Shuffling and muted voices drew closer to the door. One voice, tinged with apprehension said something unintelligible and a female voice responded matter of factly “and have the undead now learned to knock, Jasper? I didn’t realize their manners were so refined.” 

The door swung open, taking Clarke by surprise, and nearly clipping her nose. The green eyed girl on the other side quirked her head, eyebrows raising imperceptibly. 

“Clarke graces us with her presence. Do you need to be saved from drowning again?” Without warning all of the emotion from the past weeks bubbled up in her chest. The loneliness, the hunger, the ache for human interaction. Now as she stood in front of living being again, something inside her swelled up and her pride was gone. She could no longer hold it all. 

“Yes,” she sobbed. A look of shock passed over Lexa’s face. This was such a far cry from the hostile girl she had encountered at the bottom of a river. 

“Come inside, Clarke.” Lexa guided her through the door and up a metal staircase to a small room that seemed to be sleeping quarters. Lexa waved her hand briefly and Jasper gave them the room. Clarke sat heavily on the edge of the cot, she cast her gaze about the room. Brick painted over with peeling white paint, concrete, metal desk, nothing personal. She assumed this was Lexa’s room, but the space was bare and impersonal. Eyes shifting towards Lexa once again, she watched as the girl opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a dilapidated candle and lit it, tilting the glass’s opening towards her face to get a better angle at the wick. A flickering light enveloped her features, illuminating the soft warmth of her tanned skin. The flame’s reflection licked her pupil and, for a moment, expanded to envelop her irises. A forest was on fire in her eyes.

She set the candle on a small table and sat beside Clarke. A warm scent permeated the room, and Clarke could feel the girl’s gaze on the side of her face, but Lexa did not offer any conversation, instead waiting for her to start. A leftover tear rolled down the side of her face. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do it on my own, but I can’t.” 

Lexa turned to lean her back on the pillow and her head on the cold wall. For a moment she contemplated, eyes darting across the ceiling and finally back to the girl across from her. “I can offer you a bed for the night and meal, but you can’t stay. My people are already too many to keep safe, and we cannot afford another liability, especially now that Hannah is sick. I am sorry Clarke.” The words were clipped and certain. Despite their harshness, Clarke’s name rolled off her tongue mellifluously, and something about it made her eyes snap up to watch Lexa’s mouth. 

“Someone is sick? If I can stay I’ll treat her. I have medical training.” Clarke bit back the details. Abby Griffin was the doctor of the family, trauma surgeon to be exact. Of course Clarke had been too young when the outbreak began to have received formal training yet, but that had been the goal. She had spent many a summer day watching from the gallery as her mom performed emergency surgeries, sat on the counter of Abbey’s office as she reviewed charts and explained to her what each finding meant. Clarke had always been expected to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Luckily, Clarke actually loved medicine from the beginning. After school she would settle down to watch various medical dramas with Abby, and by the time she was twelve she could often call out their mistakes and think up the correct diagnosis and treatment. Of course Abby loved Clarke’s passion and fostered it at every turn, teaching her sutchering on banana peels and buying her books on virology, surgery, psychiatry, whatever caught her interest. 

“Clarke you were probably fifteen when the outbreak happened, how in the world are you medically trained?”

“My mom was a doctor. I picked up a lot. Just give me a chance, I promise I can do it. Let me treat that sick girl. If she dies, you can kick me out.” 

Lexa leveled her gaze at Clarke, sighed, and after a moment gave small nod. “You can examine her tonight and begin treatment in the morning.” Clarke nodded and began to move from the bed. “No. Stay here. I will give you some time alone to clear your head. When you are ready you may come down and join us for a meal.” Lexa stood and made for the door, but paused before she closed it completely behind her. “I don’t know what happened to you out there, but you are stronger than you think, Clarke. I can tell.” The door door clicked closed behind her and the room was quiet. 

Clarke descended the stairs hesitantly and at the bottom found a rather large group of people lounging around a pot of something that smelled heavenly. Lexa caught sight of Clarke from her position standing among her people. Others soon noticed, and shot uneasy looks in Clarke’s direction. This was familiar to her, everyone was slow to trust these days. They knew everyone did things for selfish reasons. Those that had survived this long could not afford to be selfless. Or trusting. “We welcome Clarke Griffin into our family,” Lexa announced firmly, “She has agreed to provide us with medical care, so if anyone attempts to make her feel unwelcome they will have me to answer to. Am I understood?” A murmur of affirmation passed through the crowd and she gave Lexa a small, appreciative smile. Surprisingly the look of distrust began slowly to dissipate ever so slightly from their features. Their trust in Lexa’s judgement was clear. 

Clarke let her gaze drift around the interior of the factory for the first time. The survivors were stationed roughly in the middle of the main floor sitting on mismatched chairs or fold out tables or the floor. The group was fifteen or so strong, a larger group than she had seen in the past years. Beyond the gathering, people had set their belongings among monstrous printing machines. Newspapers lay yellowed and crumpled on the floor or caught in the machine perpetually between reviews of the royal babies’ fashions and news of Canada’s emergency border shutdown. Some people had chosen to set their sleeping bags under blankets stretched taut between machines like some sort of children’s pillow fort. Other forewent that vague form of privacy. Their backpacks and sleeping bags sat closely together, just beyond the tables. There were small rooms off of the main floor and Clarke briefly wondered why Lexa was the only one who chose to keep her own room. Maybe it was some sort of spoils for being their leader. 

Still uncomfortable in such an unfamiliar crowd, Clarke approached the vat that perfumed the room with the scent of meat and onions from one of the long tables. The boy serving food looked to be about the same age as Clarke. He sported a jovial smile and a kind face despite his friend insistent pestering. Clarke recognized the friend to be the goggled boy who stood with Lexa when she was let in a few hours ago. “Jasper right? I’m Clarke.”

“Yeah I know,” clearly he was not as easily trusting. 

“Don’t mind him. Manners has never been his strongest point. I’m Monty Green and yes that’s Jasper.” 

Monty ladeled stew into a dented metal bowl and handed it over to Clarke. As the smell wafted up to her, she once again felt the hunger like a waking beast inside her. Monty offered her no utensil so she immediately lifted the lip to her mouth and drank the contents of her bowl, scooping the larger pieces with her fingers once the broth was gone. The ordeal likely lasted less than five seconds. When the bowl was lowered, she once again met the gazes of the two boys across from her, suddenly realizing her lack of decorum. They stood for a moment facing each other when finally Jasper burst into a surprisingly childish laugh. 

“Damn, Clarke okay. Well, do you want some more?” Jasper’s eyes still twinkled amicably and Clarke handed the bowl back, feeling more at ease than she had expected so quickly. This time the food came back with a spoon.

“I expect you to actually use that this time.”

“Hey, Jasper we gotta go. Raven and Octavia just went out back.” Monty glanced back over his shoulder towards a secluded door. Jasper turned back to Clarke, sizing her up, evaluating her by some unknown scale. “You wanna come with? You can bring your bowl if you want.” Clarke wasn’t sure exactly what they meant, but she was starved for company and was not about to question this potential friendship. 

The air had cooled in the hours Clarke had been inside. She wrapped her fingers snugly around the warm bowl of soup. The boys greeted the girls, who she assumed were Raven and Octavia, familiarly. They were fiddling with a glass pipe and as Clarke found a seat on a small circle of logs, one of the girls lifted it to her lips. The flame that sprang from the lighter revealed severe features accompanied by a hardened expression. She did not offer her name. The girl next to her had pulled her hair back in a ponytail from a face that showed a clear affinity for smiling from tiny creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “Want any, new girl?”

Clarke shook her head. “I’m treating someone called Hannah after I eat.”

“No shit. That’s Monty’s mom.” The pipe passed to Monty and he did not meet her gaze. “I’m Raven Reyes, by the way.”

“Clarke Griffin.”

“Nice to meet you. And this is Octavia Blake. I promise she’s nicer than this usually.” Raven drove her elbow into her friend’s side, “She has apparently just decided to be an asshole tonight,” she chirped out comically. 

“Oh shut up, Raven.” 

“Annnyway,” Monty shot daggers at the two girls, “What brings you to us?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Definitely this soup,” she tried. “So, how did you guys find this place?” They allowed her diversion. None of them could say they had come from a happy past either. 

“We just stumbled into it, really. We’ve only been here for a couple of days and we’re moving out again as soon as Monty’s mom uh...gets better,” Raven looked up at Monty guiltily before continuing, “Lexa heard news of a safe haven in Vancouver, so we’re on our way to find it.” The pipe came back around to Octavia who wordlessly overturned the ashes and tapped them into the dirt before refilling the bowl. 

“May I ask...Why does Lexa lead you all? She seems very young to be in charge of so many people. I mean she can’t be much older than any of us.”

“Lexa’s smart. She’s ruthless but careful; a natural born leader, really. Plus, she’s immune, which doesn’t hurt and it means we can count on having the same leadership for a long time.”

“She’s what now?” No longer interested in the remains of her food, Clarke set her bowl on the ground beside her and leaned in towards Raven. 

“Yeah I know. Crazy right? I couldn’t tell you why; I know more about machines and metal than I do about bodies, but she was bitten right as the outbreak hit, but her body fought it off. She’s got this really dark blood and I guess it protects her somehow. Aden’s the only other one who’s got it. Little kid, red hair.” Raven held her hand a few feet off the ground to show Aden’s height. 

Clarke remembered. He was the boy at the waterfront. So determined, like Atlas holding the weight of the whole sky on his back

All around the five of them, the crickets broke into their nightsong. The silence between these friends was comfortable, forged in the necessity of constant companionship. For a moment Clarke leaned her head back against the building behind her and closed her eyes. This is what had been missing. She could feel the life that surrounded her. She could feel it with such a force that she had not experienced since the outbreak. Just the slow intake of a breath, the shuffle of a restless foot in the dirt, the click of a lighter. 

“Thanks for helping my mom.” It was soft and sincere. 

Clarke let out a soft breath. “To be honest, it was the only reason Lexa let me stay, but I’m glad I could help.”

“That’s why we’re all here.” It was Octavia that spoke this time. Her voice’s intonation carried the same sharpness as her features. “We all serve a purpose. I’m a fighter. Raven’s the mechanical whiz, builds us shelters and keeps our gun working. Monty cooks. And Jasper’s our scavenger, plus he brings the weed.” Clarke saw a tiny crack form in Octavia’s unreadable facade as her friends laughed along. 

“Alright. I think I have to go check on your mom, or Lexa’s gonna have me thrown out. Thank you for the food,” she nodded at Monty, “and the company. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

*******

Hannah Green was worse off than Clarke would have hoped. She had been moved to one of the smaller rooms on the main floor to allow her privacy and rest. Her sleeping bag lay on the floor and multiple blankets were exploding from inside of it or pulled tightly around her shoulders, yet the poor woman was still shaking uncontrollably. 

“She hasn’t been bitten has she?” Lexa shook her head as she followed Clarke into the sickroom. 

“We checked her over entirely as we would with anyone presenting a fever. Not a scratch.” Clarke nodded thoughtfully. Moving to her knees, she bent over close to the sick woman, clearing blankets away from her wrist. She pressed fingers to Hannah’s left wrist and stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, lips moving imperceptibly. 

“Has she been eating?”

“No.”

She pressed a hand to the woman’s slick brow and asked Lexa for help lifting her into a sitting position. Clarke laid the side of her head against Hannah’s back and braced for the sound she hoped would not come. The overheated skin of her back pushed into Clarke’s ear as air wheezed and crackled into Hannah’s lungs. Lexa could read the prognosis off Clarke’s face before she said anything. They left Hannah to rest, rebundled in her endless blankets. 

“We’ll its not good. I’m thinking pneumonia. We obviously can’t get an xray of her lungs but that’s what I’d say. We can give her fluids, keep her eating, try and encourage her to sleep on her side so she can cough anything up more safely, but beyond that there’s really not too much I can do unless you have some unexpired antibiotics lying around.”

“I hope for both of your sakes, that you come up with something to keep her alive.”

*******

Clarke chose to spread her sleeping bag in another one of the upstairs rooms that looked down on the rest of the camp. Being reunited with humankind was wonderful to experience, but also overwhelming after so much time with very few people around. She oddly needed that quiet back, just for the night. 

The ground was hard, but safe. Clarke’s mental tranquility quickly outweighed the bruises forming on her hips and the room faded to black. 

It felt like mere seconds later when her eyes shot open again. A glance out the window to the stars’ lofty position in the sky proved that it was in fact several hours since she had drifted to sleep. The sound came again through the concrete wall of her room. A blood curdling scream. Clarke scrambled out of her bedding, grabbed a knife from her pack and raced down the hallway to the source of the noise. Bursting into Lexa’s room, she scanned for the intruder, but there was none to be found. The girl was wrapped in the vice like grip of her twisted, sweat soaked blankets. Her forehead furrowed in deep, troubled canyons and she breathed rapidly. Even the strongest among us have horrors in their past, and for many, horrors in their present. 

Sitting on the edge of Lexa’s bed, knife resting now on the table, Clarke hesitantly reached out towards the girl’s head. Her fingers found their way into her dark locks as they slowly stroked down her scalp and through the hair that flowed out onto her pillow, a supernova of soft curls and tangles. With every passing second, Lexa’s breath became more regular, her knuckles turned from white to pink, the years of worry melted away from her features. There was a vulnerability in this sleeping face that Clarke had never seen on another human. She was hypnotized. Taking her hand from Lexa’s hair, she slid her fingers up the girl’s face to cup her smooth cheek. Clarke’s thumb reached up to ghost over her eyebrow, as Abby had done to help Clarke fall asleep so many years ago. She barely noticed as a shudder passed through Lexa’s body and her eyes fell wordlessly open, already locked onto Clarke’s face. 

“Clarke?” Her hand pulled back as though electricity had passed into her skin. Clarke tried to speak her explanation but the words were delayed and gravely from sleep. 

“ You…” she cleared her throat. “You were having a nightmare I think. You screamed in your sleep.” Lexa nodded and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her eyes didn’t leave Clarke’s face. 

“What time is it?”

“Maybe 3.”

“I will relieve Anya from her guard post a bit early, then.” Lexa slipped out from under the covers and strolled over to the set of drawers to get a new outfit. Something about her choice of sleepwear made Clarke smile amusedly. A heathered gray NYU t-shirt and red, drawstring shorts. This girl acted like she was from another planet; her constantly formal tone and the incomprehensible determination, knowledge, sadness in her eyes. Like she had stood at the creation of the universe, guardian of the heavens, older than God himself, and yet here she was in a college t-shirt and worn-out shorts. 

Without a warning word to Clarke, Lexa rid herself of the shirt and shorts and stood over a bowl of water that she used to douse her face. Clarke averted her eyes, but even she had to acknowledge the change in her breath. When she turned back around, Lexa looked much more as Clarke would have expected: Tight black jeans overlaid with various straps that held two small knives firmly to the side of her thigh, and a fitted, maroon shirt. At her hip rested a silenced pistol. 

“Could I sit with you? I won’t be able to go back to sleep and I could use some fresh air.”

The air was cool and still, and the sky cloudless. A slender woman paced carefully around the corner and did not start when she saw the two of them. Her eyes were catlike and evaluative. She did not yet trust this newcomer. 

“Anya. I thought you might enjoy an extra few hours of sleep.” She mounted the stairs and greeted Lexa. 

“Nightmares again?” Lexa nodded in affirmation. “Well then, I guess I’ll go get some shut eye. Be safe, sis.” Anya retired the crowbar she had been holding to lean against the factory’s exterior wall and let herself inside. 

“Is she really your sister?” Clarke had settled onto the top step and Lexa leaned casually against the wall, eyes ceaselessly roaming the landscape. She crossed her arms across her chest and gave a small frown. 

“In all the ways that matter, yes.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry. I haven’t had the chance to talk to many people recently. But I wouldn’t trust a virtual stranger at this point either.” Lexa dropped down on the step beside Clarke.

“I do trust you, Clarke.” There it was again, that pronunciation. She couldn’t figure out quite why it jarred her so much to hear. “I’m not sure yet why, but my instincts are rarely wrong.” The chillness of the night air and the soft darkness urged Lexa to confide in Clarke, as it does for so many, things she would not in the daylight. She could feel the ghosts pulling at her tongue. Silenced passed between them for a few moments before Lexa spoke again. “My mother was an addict. Alcohol, cocaine, opiates, heroin later on, whatever she could get her hands on really.” Lexa stared straight in front of her at nothing. Her face gave away nothing. “Since she didn’t even know who the father was, when Child Protective Services showed up, I went into the system. I would like to say she cared. I think she would have, if it had happened earlier, before her whole life started to revolve around getting well, but at that point she was so deep. I think she was just glad she didn’t have to pay to feed me anymore. When I got to the foster home it wasn’t much better. There were fourteen of us sometimes and our foster mother was in it to collect checks and not to take care of us. Anyway, I met Anya there. She was the first person in my life that actively tried to stay in it, when I pushed away. So yeah, she’s my sister in all the ways that matter.” Lexa chuckled to herself, “She even made me apply to college before…” She waved her hand vaguely to their surroundings. “In a weird way this is the world I grew up in. This makes sense to me. I never really fit in the world before the outbreak.” 

For the back half of her story Clarke had been astoundedly staring at Lexa. The air felt as if it had abandoned her lungs, and when she was finished, it returned in a rush of breath. “Fuck, Lexa. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need for that. It is no use grieving the past.”

“I wish believing that would stop me from grieving too. Is that what your nightmares are about?”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Sometimes.” She paused for a minute and then realized Clarke would ask her to elaborate if she did not say more. “Other nights I dream of those I have killed.” These things spilled out so easily, it surprised Lexa. With Clarke, it was no more difficult than taking her next breath. “I can hear them screaming all around me, begging to live, but when I look at them their mouths do not move and their eyes are already dead.” For the first time since she had started her story, Lexa turned to look at the girl beside her. She was taken aback to find Clarke already watching her. She was even more surprised to find tears tracking their way down her cheeks again. 

“Those are my dreams too.” She took a shaky breath. “My brother...Bellamy.” 

Lexa looked like she might reach out a hand in comfort, but thought better of it. “I am deeply sorry.”

“I thought it was no use grieving the past.” Clarke tried a small smile.

“That doesn’t stop us from doing it anyway.” 

Without warning, the door flew open, a small metal jag catching Lexa’s shoulder blade. She grit her teeth and clenched her fist, but did not yell out. 

“Shit! Shit. Lexa, I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were there. Are you okay? You’re bleeding. Fuck, do you…” Lexa stopped her with a raised hand.

“It’s alright, Raven. I am fine. I just didn’t realize it was so late already.” 

“I can look at that when we get inside,” Clarke offered. Lexa nodded and patted Raven on the back before letting herself inside. Clarke followed, but not before returning Raven’s comically exaggeratedly horrified facial expression. 

Back in the upstairs room, Clarke sat Lexa on the metal desk she had pulled to the center of the floor. On the background of her maroon colored shirt, it was true that the blood did appear almost black, as she had been told the night before. Lexa removed her shirt in a smooth, unselfconscious motion, leaving her in a sports bra. Clarke’s eyes flit over the intricate tattoo that spanned her entire back. It wound its way up her spine between thick ropes of lean muscle, almost touching the black blood on Lexa’s shoulder. She had to consciously keep herself from taking her index finger and trailing it down the soft, inked skin, the pattern was hypnotic. . Blinking back to reality, Clarke readied her supplies with unsteady hands. 

The wound was small but deep and required two stitches. Clarke sanitized her sewing needle in the flame of Lexa’s candle and made quick work of patching her up. Lexa didn’t even flinch as the needle went in. 

“Is it true about your blood?”

“You’ve heard already. Gossip travels fast, I suppose.”

“So it’s not true?”

“No, it is. I couldn’t tell you why though.” Clarke was taken aback by this confirmation. The hope that this girl sitting in front of her held, it was astounding. Did she even understand? Lexa’s blood could create a cure, could be something the people of earth poured their hopes and dreams into, something they would fight and die for. If only they could bring a sample to someone who really knew what they were doing. But they were all dead now. Dead or lost somewhere in the wilderness like the rest of them. 

“Are you as good at stitching clothes as you are at stitching people?” Lexa held up her tattered shirt to Clarke.

“I’ll see what I can do for you.” Clarke directed her gaze away from her bare torso, but looking that intensely at Lexa’s face was not much better. Breaking their eye contact, she insisted on beginning treatment on Hannah and skittered downstairs. 

Lexa wrapped her fingers around the edge of the desk, testing her stitches carefully. Clarke was a talented medic despite having learned when she was so young. She let her eyes drift closed for a moment. On the back of her eyelids flashed syringes, lifeless faces, her own hands drenched in innocent blood, and suddenly, something new, the warm imprint of Clarke’s hand on her back. The pressure grew with a warm glow until it pressed against the very edges of her mind. There was room for nothing else. When she opened her eyes it did not fade.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're half way there! Thanks to everyone who's been following my story from chapter one, your comments and kudos keep me writting <3
> 
> Written to some of Mumford & Sons earlier discography

The air inside the factory was thick in a way that surprised Clarke. Fighting against her lungs, she burst through the doorway of her own temporary room and leaned heavily back against the doorframe. What the fuck is going on? Keep it together, Clarke. She needed fresh air and distance desperately. She could kill two birds with one stone and gather what she needed for Hannah’s treatment as well as getting some alone time. 

She set about retrieving her supplies for the day: empty metal can, flint stones, long sleeve shirt, a bucket from downstairs. Before setting out she went by Hannah’s room and made sure she drank some water and told her to take off as many blankets as she could bear to try and bring her fever down, receiving only a mumbled reply. The body’s natural reaction was only helpful up to a certain point and then it could be detrimental. 

Clarke let the door click softly shut and found Monty on what she assumed was his sleep palette playing cards with Jasper. 

“Hey.” Monty twisted around to smile warmly back at her while Jasper remained engrossed in his hand. 

“Hey. We’re playing for the lookout night shift tonight. Wanna join? I’d really love to have an even lower chance of being stuck with it.”

“Very tempting,” Clarke chuckled “but I’m headed out to find some supplies to treat your mom.” His face sombered slightly at the mention of her condition. “She could use something to eat but I know she’s not keeping much down. I thought while I was gone you could try giving her some of the soup broth from last night?”

“Yeah absolutely… Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I...I want to help her but I just don’t how to do that.” Clarke nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. There wasn’t much to do besides keep her hydrated and fed and get as many antibiotics in her as possible. Clarke’s mind was set on the latter of these. From what she remembered of her short herbology fascination phase, a couple of plants and such native to these areas might have some curative properties. She was fairly confident she would be able to find some honey as she had seen a number of honeybees bumbling around in the past few days. If she was lucky she would stumble on some ginger root as well. 

That was the one good thing about apocalyptic scenery around her. It had come just before the vital tipping point where nature would have been nearly unsalvageable. When all the cars and factories stopped churning out toxic chemicals within mere days, the atmosphere cleared surprisingly quickly. Weeds grew and bloomed in the cracks of concrete and cityscapes were slowly overtaken by ivy and timothy grass. With the boom of plants came the bounce-back of many animal populations, including the bees. Clarke wondered often if this was not mother nature’s retaliation after being abused for so many years, if this was not some balancing of the scales to bring the world back into peaceful harmony. No great peace had ever been achieved without first a great violence. 

Clarke followed her ears and eyes from a small patch of bright red flowers into the woods. In particular she was following one fat bee in the hopes it would lead her to its hive. Almost without her notice, a steady hum began to fill her ears, growing from a soft white noise to become quite a cacophony.

Bellamy had taught her to collect honey. The memory swelled in her chest and ached in her belly but it brought with it an unexpected sweetness. Clarke realized she was able to conjure a small smile at the realization. Thoughts of her brother were no longer just painful. 

The hive sat snugly at the meeting of branch and trunk of a large, sagging bow. Hundreds of bees wove intricate patterns in and out of their home, looping circles around smaller branches and out towards flowering bushes. 

A safe distance from the swarm, Clarke slid her bag off her shoulder and began setting up her instruments. Gathering dry leaves to get the fire going and some green leaves to make it smoke, she stuffed these into the empty can she had brought along and struck fire into it with the two flint stones. When it caught, she covered the contents with the can’s lid, tilting it at an angle so that the smoke could escape at one end. Bucket in one hand and makeshift smoker in the other, she slowly approached the hive. 

As the smoke slowly enveloped and filled the hive, the bees began to fly in loopy, slow circles and the buzzing of the hive dropped an octave. Clarke gave it another few seconds before ever so slowly reaching into the heart of the hive. Bees bumped around her hand lazily as she tried her best not to flinch. When her fingers brushed a large patch of sticky honeycomb, she gently scooped it into the palm of her hand. A few of the bees appeared to have noticed the intruder and Clarke received two nearly simultaneous stings on her hand and forearm before she could fully retract from the hive. She cursed under her breath and beat a hasty retreat from the swarm with her spoils. The honeycomb went into the bucket and the fire was stamped out before she set out again, bucket in her unstung hand and honey licked cleanly from the other. 

By early afternoon Clarke returned to the factory having been luckier in her search than she had expected. The forest had yielded both ginger root and some wild growing onions both of which she gathered as many as her bucket could hold. She figured if Hannah’s treatment didn’t use all of the supplies, then Monty would be able to figure out something to cook with them. 

Hannah was awake and sitting up swaddled in blankets when Clarke arrived with her tea. Monty sat beside her asking worriedly about how she was feeling. Clarke entered but smiled apologetically at having interrupted a private family moment.  
“Who are you?” The harshness of her tone took Clarke aback but she maintained a gentle manner.  
“Hi Ms. Greene. I’m Clarke and I’ve been taking care of you. How are you feeling this morning?”

“I thought we weren’t taking in strays anymore.”

“Mom!” Monty looked up apologetically at Clarke. 

“What? I told you at the beginning of all this that she was too young to be in charge of so many people and now she’s picking up people at random which puts you and everyone else here in greater danger. Big groups attracts attention, you know that, Monty.” An uncomfortable silence grew between the three of them before Clarke finally broke it.

“Well, I’m here to get you well for as long as I am here, so drink this and if you finish it then drink more. You need as much of this in you as you can get.” Hannah took the cup and drank gingerly. “And Monty I left some onions for you that I found today.”

With that Clarke left the room. She did not notice until several seconds later that Monty had followed. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry about her she’s just…”

“She just cares about you, Monty. It’s okay.”

*******

Hannah Greene’s condition began a slow but steady climb to improvement under Clarke’s attentive care. Her surly nature was slower to recover, but in time she grew to trust Clarke, readily taking any treatment suggested to her, and realizing that Clarke had become a vital addition to their tribe in more ways than one. 

Clarke found herself to be constantly busy throughout the day treating small cuts and bruises while keeping a close eye on Hannah. In the interim she was drafted to help Monty gather edible plants from the surrounding area while he checked traps for small animals and the like. She enjoyed his cheery demeanour and mischievous tendencies, and their near daily walks together were a welcome distraction from Clarke’s thoughts. There was not a huge variety of food they could find in the area around the factory. Onions did seem to be a staple in nearly every meal as they grew in the greatest quantity. Dandelions also entered their diet in abundance when the pair stumbled upon a large field of them on one such walk. Clarke was thankful for anything resembling a steady meal but she and the rest of the group began to grow tired of the monotony. 

In her free time she often chose to sit on the second floor walkway overlooking the main area with a pencil and some of the copious amount of paper crammed in every corner of the factory, sketching. She enjoyed drawing detailed diagrams and deconstructed pictures of various plants she had seen on her walks with Monty, occasionally the wildlife, though she struggled still with capturing the emotions behind animals’ eyes. She was most familiar with human facial expressions. Maybe that was why Clarke’s pages bagan to fill more and more with pictures of the people around her, and none more frequently than Lexa. There was something about her balanced severity and softness that made her such a fascinating subject to draw. Often she focused on small details: the intricate tangle of her braids, emotive brows, or the complex mixture of colors in her eyes. 

“Clarke.” she jolted out of her reverie nearly dropping her pencil over the railing. When she realized who had said her name, Clarke slapped her hand over the drawing in her lap quickly and put it halfway behind her back. Lexa quirked an eyebrow and flicked her gaze towards the pad of paper but said nothing. “I was hoping you might help me collect some water from the river. I could use an extra set of hands.”

“Yeah. Sure. let me just get my stuff.” she gestured vaguely towards her room. Clarke realized, once she had closed the door, that she didn’t actually need to get anything since she had taken to keeping a knife on her at all times, so she settled for tying her hair behind her in a quick braid and stashing her sketches in the backpack. 

Lexa met her outside, leaning her back against the wall they had sat beside for many mornings now. Her face was serene and Clarke would have guessed the girl was asleep if she had not been standing. She made no move to shift when Clarke came out, though the door certainly made a noise loud enough to rouse her. 

“Can you hear it?” Clarke paused beside her and listened for a moment.  
“All I hear are birds” Lexa smiled briefly.

“Maybe this is the way it was always supposed to be...just birds. Not...all of us.” A moment of silence passed between them. The soft rustle of wind through overgrown grass. Birds high up, nesting in the trees.

“Maybe so.”

Lexa opened her eyes and regarded Clarke for a moment, expressionless. Turning from her, Lexa picked up her buckets and headed towards the forest. 

They heard the river before they saw it. A rumble at the edge of their consciousness. At the water’s edge Lexa set down her empty buckets and rolled up her cargo pants to the knee. Clarke followed her lead as she waded into the water to get past the algae that grew near the bank. 

Just up the river lay the remains of a camp site that she had nearly allowed to claim her life. The water leaching warmth from the bottoms of her feet forced a shudder from her gut with an insistence that could only be contributed to the memory of the last time she stepped into this river. 

“We’ll have to stray from the river soon when we start moving again and I’m not sure if there are many more sources of water on our way. I figured we should start stocking up as soon as we can.” She dipped the first bucket in and passed it to Clarke who stood nearer the shore. 

“No offense, Lexa, but do you ever talk about anything cheary? I feel like you’ve never just done something for fun.” Lexa kept quiet as she dipped the next bucket. Clarke averted her gaze hoping she hadn’t taken offense. Without warning she was hit with a wave of freezing water. When she looked up, Lexa had a wicked grin spread across her face. Clarke let out a heart crack of laughter and returned the favor. Lexa was shocked at the cold and let her mouth hang open for a few moments after water hit her square in the face. In no time, they had both dissolved into fits of laughter, splashing each other first with buckets and then handfuls of water. 

“Alright alright alright I give up. Please spare me.” Clarke blocked her face with her forearms, grinning and soaked. “I’m fucking freezing. Let’s finish filling up and then get the hell out.”

The rest of the buckets went quickly with the pair of them working together, and as soon as their task was done, they scrambled atop a large rock at the water’s edge. The sun and the residual heat in the rock slowly began to warm them, but their soaked clothes kept them shivering before Lexa relented and peeled off her shirt, setting it beside her in the sun to dry. Clarke followed suit and leaned back onto her hands. Looking over to Lexa she giggled again.

“What?”

“Nothing you just…” she let out another laugh.

“What is it?” Lexa asked half exasperated, half giggling herself.

“You’re eyeliner got kinda fucked up and now you look exactly like a raccoon.”

“Oh god.” She attempted to wipe the charcoal away with the back of her hand. “I don’t know why I still wear this stuff. Sense of normalcy I guess.” The smudges were just growing larger with every swipe of Lexa’s hand, and finally Clarke reached forward. 

“Here, let me.” The moment Clarke’s hand touched her face a wave of calm washed over Lexa’s entire body. Flashes of all the nights Clarke had spent sitting in her bed in the early hours of the morning, patiently brushing her fingertips over Lexa’s eyebrow flashed behind her eyes. 

*******

Her nightmares had become nearly constant, and they were always the same. When she woke in a cold sweat, there Clarke would be, sitting with her legs tucked up to her chest. Sometimes if she had managed to sleep through her dreams, she would find Clarke curled at the foot of her bed or slumped against the wall, the early morning sunlight catching on her tangled, blonde bun. 

“You really don’t have to keep doing this, Clarke.” The girl pushed herself up from the mattress, still bleary eyed and brushing hair out of her face. She didn’t inspect the room in bewilderment anymore as she had the first few mornings, instead she found that she had become accustomed to waking up in Lexa’s bed. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry I fell asleep again. I’ll get out of your hair.” Clarke made a move to leave the bed, but found her hand caught in Lexa’s at the last second. Her fingers were softer than she expected. Not that she had expected anything. 

“Thank you. For always saving me from my nightmares.” Clarke’s suddenly wide eyes stuttered on Lexa’s soft ones. She searched them for something Lexa made impossible to find. 

“Just returning the favor.”

*******

Looking up at Clarke glistening and bathed in sunlight, a now familiar warm pressure filled Lexa’s mind and a tightness entered her chest and throat. She couldn’t peel her eyes away from Clarke’s. 

“I watched you.” The words slipped out before Lexa could process that she was about to say them. “I watched you walk into the water.” Clarke’s hand dropped from her face and her eyes averted to watch the treeline across from them. She didn’t respond. “There was a look on your face like…” Lexa paused, looking for the right word, “acceptance.” She let out a soft sigh. “I just want you to know that I’ve been there, and it fades...in time, but until then I’m here. For you.” 

Clarke craned her neck over her shoulder. Lexa could see the tracks of new tears on her drying face.

“Here, let me.” Lexa reached across to wipe the wetness under Clarke’s eyes. “At least you don’t wear makeup.” She tried a small smile. Clarke nodded.

“Thank you.”

A rustling from across the river caught both of their attentions and a few seconds later a body emerged from the foliage, shuffling and groaning. 

“We gotta go”

She was right. One lone zombie was a minimal threat, but if more showed up they could be in trouble. Luckily this one was across the water and would likely not try to cross over without being provoked. 

The girls grabbed their nearly dry shirts off the rock and hopped down, Lexa first followed by Clarke who steadied herself on Lexa’s waiting hand. As they watched, another emerged from the brush a little ways down the river. They headed back almost at a trot, glancing backwards more than once to be sure they were not being pursued. The now full water buckets cut into Clarke’s fingers but she paid them no mind and focused instead on listening and watching everything around them, searching for anything out of place. 

“Shit I didn’t think there were any this close.”

“Me neither. We need to leave sooner than I thought...as soon as we can. Can Hannah travel?”

“I would advise against it, but she could if we needed to. We’ll have to take it slow though.”

Lexa nodded in response. The wheels behind her eyes were turning.


End file.
